


Something Wicked

by justdk



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Choking, Dream Pack, Drinking, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, M/M, Magic, Mentions of homophobia, Roommates, Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Witches, fuckboy werewolves being obnoxious, i mean do i have to tag every single sexy thing these guys get up to?, i swear things get better for these boys but they're off to a rough start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-04-30 18:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14502939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdk/pseuds/justdk
Summary: After being exiled from his pack, Skov is sent to Aglionby. Devastated, alone, and angry, he expects the worst and is shocked when fate gives him the best roommate ever and a new pack to run with.Told from multiple POVs: Skov, Swan, Kavinsky, Jiang, and Prokopenko.





	1. SKOV

_“I’m doing this for your own good.”_

That was the last thing Skov’s father had said before putting him on a plane and sending him all the way across the country. Skov had heard those words too many times, always tacked on the end of a punishment. His father had said it after he had taken Skov’s car, after he severed his bonds to the rest of the pack, and after beating him nearly senseless.

Skov didn’t feel any closer to _good_ than he had before. All he felt was angry and lonely and desperate. The pack had been his world, a large extended family of wolves that he had run with his entire life. Yes, they could be dysfunctional and his father was strict and demanding but they were _pack_. Without them Skov felt unbalanced, like he was missing a sense or a limb.

 _“You shamed us all, boy_ ,” his father had said. _“This is not how an Alpha behaves.”_

Even Skov’s mother had turned away, refusing to shelter him. The rest of the pack followed their Alpha’s lead. When he left none of them wished him well or told him goodbye even though they knew they wouldn’t see him for over a year. Danny certainly hadn’t bothered to say goodbye.

 _“Why Aglionby? Why Virginia?”_ Skov had asked his father, his Alpha.

 _“Clearly you can’t keep it in your pants,”_ his father had sneered. _“Go sow your wild oats and come back ready to be a leader. You know what that means.”_

It meant finding a mate and training to be Alpha. It meant, one day, overseeing all of the disparate NorCal packs. It meant working for his father’s company. It was a life that Skov did not want but like all wolves he had to either submit to his Alpha or go rogue. Going rogue meant no pack, it meant struggling to find his way in both worlds alone, it meant being vulnerable. His entire life he had been taught that exile was worse than death and here he was, exiled. No contact could be made. He had a bank account and the items packed in his bags but that was it. For one year he had no family, no friends, no home. No pack.

—–

The flight from California to Virginia had been a maddening experience of sensory overload. Skov had spent the first five minutes sneezing until his senses adjusted to the concentrated smells of over a hundred people trapped in the confines of the plane. _This_ was why his father owned a private jet, not that he had allowed Skov to use it for this trip. Skov spent most of the flight blasting his music through his headphones and pretending to sleep while trying not to breathe. Since it was nighttime he didn’t even have a view to distract him from his misery. He decided that it should be illegal to make werewolves suffer through this since it definitely qualified as cruel and unusual punishment.

It was ridiculously early when the plane landed and the first thing he did was use his fake ID – a gift that Danny had given him nearly six months ago – to buy several shots at the one of the airport bars that had just opened. The alcohol burned through his system in minutes, not getting him even the slightest bit tipsy. Skov swallowed his discontented growl and pretended that the drinks had taken the edge off the long flight. Next he found a place that sold cigarettes and got a pack. He picked up condoms and lube after that because if he was fucked for the following year then he intended to get fucked as much as possible. Aglionby was an all boys school so he pretty sure that there would be more than a couple guys like him. He wasn’t going to think about Danny.

His phone chimed, an alert from the chauffeur service, reminding him that the driver had been waiting for thirty minutes. This was one last gesture from Skov’s father; insurance to make sure he got to Aglionby instead of skipping town completely. Skov pocketed his phone, put on his sunglasses and strolled to the nearest smoking area. He got a light from a tall, nice looking man in a leather coat. Skov leaned back against the wall and pretended to ignore the man, curious to see what would happen next.

“You in school?” the man asked after a minute of appraising side-glances.

Skov exhaled, smoke flowing from his mouth; he knew it was a good look and he was pleased by the way the man’s gaze lingered on his lips. He guesstimated that the man was probably in his mid-twenties. There wasn’t anything particularly great about him. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and just the right amount of scruff on his face. He looked like the type who used his hands not his brain for a living. Skov imagined those hands holding him down grinned, hiding it behind his hand as he took another hit from his cigarette.

“Yeah,” Skov replied. “Senior.”

“Oh?” The man sidled a little closer. “What’s your major?”

Skov laughed and looked off to the side. “If you asked my dad he would say fucking up.”

The man laughed, too. It was a nice laugh, warm and genuine. The man moved closer, his body angled towards Skov. “Isn’t that what college is for?”

“Apparently.” Skov breathed in smoke and the man’s scent – Ax body wash, light deodorant, a faint whiff of beer, and under that the heady smell of arousal. The man was interested and Skov felt as thrilled as any hunter on the prowl. “When else will I get to be this reckless?” He turned, putting himself in the man’s personal space. “Right?”

“Definitely.” The man swallowed hard, his neglected cigarette turning to ash. “So, uh, you go to school in the city?”

Skov took another drag and shook his head regretfully. “Tiny school in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. My old man shouldn’t be surprised I’m going off the rails, small town there’s nothing to do but get into trouble.” He licked his dry lips and could almost taste the other man’s desire, the scent getting stronger by the moment.

“Well that’s a shame, if you lived in the city…” The man shrugged his broad shoulders and left the unspoken offer hanging.

“If I lived in the city what?” Skov lowered his voice, making it deeper, lacing it with a seductive tone that had always worked wonders with Danny.

The man grinned and ducked his head, almost like he was embarrassed. It was cute as fuck. He tilted his head to the side and looked at Skov with eyes that were practically sparkling with want. “I’d ask if you wanted to come by my place sometime.”

“Sometime?” Skov teased, poking the man’s arm.

The man grabbed his hand, holding tight for a moment before releasing him. Skov’s heart thudded painfully and he felt his own keen interest burning hotter. _Touch starved_ , another side effect of being ripped away from Danny, then the pack. It had been ages since anyone had touched him.

“Now,” the man murmured, close, his breath brushing over Skov’s ear. “I’d ask if you wanted to come over now.”

“Hmmm.” Skov stubbed out his cigarette and pretended to think about it. “If I lived in the city I would say yes.” His phone chimed again and Skov viewed the newest message from his increasingly annoyed driver. “Gotta go, my ride’s here.”

“Hey, hold up a second.” The man reached for Skov’s phone; Skov surrendered it and watched as the man added his number to the contacts. “Text me if you’re ever in the city and bored.”

“Yeah.” Skov took the phone back, letting his fingers slide slowly over the man’s palm, aching to feel more and do more. “I’ll do that.” He picked up his bags and walked off, turning around at the curb to find the man still watching him. He smiled the entire way to the car.

—–

The drive to Aglionby was uneventful. The scenery was different from where the pack lived. Here it was fields and forests, the mountains rounded and low. There was a settled look about the Appalachians that the rugged Sierras lacked. Skov’s father’s family had settled in northern California in the early 1800s, before the Gold Rush, and had claimed a large area of the mountains for their pack. As it turned out the land was rich in minerals, including gold, and Skov’s ancestors had added to their wealth while creating a preserve to ensure their privacy for generations to come. Now the pack had various business ventures in California and overseas. They also had a nonprofit for the protection and preservation of their territory, making it strictly off limits.

The family business was boring as fuck. Ever since he had begun shifting into his wolf form Skov had lost interest in following a typical human life. What was the point in being a werewolf if he still had to do the suit and tie routine? At his old school he had earned himself a reputation as a fuckboy and that was _before_ anyone knew about Danny. After… well. He hadn’t been allowed to talk to anyone after that. His social media accounts had been taken down, thanks to the techies in the pack. He could create new accounts but what was the point? That life was over.

Skov studied his limited list of contacts and toyed with the idea of sending a text to Craig aka the mysterious airport man. Sexting would be a better outlet for his frustration than swiping through the old pics he had secretly uploaded to his phone after Garrett had wiped it. He should delete them; it wasn’t worth the few seconds of thrill followed by a dump of guilt.

He had just figured out the perfect thing to text Craig when the car slowed and exited the interstate. Skov craned his neck and caught a glimpse of the green sign directing them towards Henrietta. The road took them past wide, sweeping fields dotted with cows and crumbling barns, past trailers and modest houses and lanes marked by a congregation of mailboxes. It was rural in a way that was jarring to Skov. He had lived at school with the other young wolves in his pack, flying home most weekends and always on the full moon. His life had the variety of the city and the stark solitariness of the mountains. But here the wilderness had been tamed and populated and it didn’t look like there was a single place where his wolf could roam undetected. For the first time he was faced with the issue of undergoing the change in an unfamiliar place, of confronting all the things that could go wrong.

The fields and farms gave way to neighborhoods and then they were driving down Henrietta’s main street, past restaurants and shops, small businesses and churches. He counted at least eight churches by the time they pulled into the gates of Aglionby Academy. The wall circling the school grounds was over ten feet tall, Skov guessed, and covered in ivy; easily surmountable. The lawn was spring green and immaculate, the buildings made of a warm, golden stone that soaked up the summer sun. Oak trees and pines shaded the grounds; the neatly trimmed bushes and gardens were tended by workers wearing khaki pants, faded plaid, and old ball caps.

The car pulled into a visitor space in the parking lot and Skov climbed out and waited for the driver to hand him his bags from the trunk.

“Thanks,” Skov muttered, hitching his bag over his shoulder. The driver nodded, got back into the car, and drove off, leaving Skov in a sea of beautiful, shiny foreign cars of all makes and models. Audi, Volvo, Porsche, BMW, Mercedes, even a fucking Maserati. One car stood out among the homogeneously pristine paintjobs: a gleaming white Mitsubishi slashed with the graphic of a bloody knife. Skov walked over to get a closer look, examining the entire car and chuckling at the license plate: THIEF. Whoever owned the car was ballsy and it gave Skov hope. Maybe Aglionby wouldn’t be the stuffed shirt blue blood polo Republican hell he had been imagining.

His own lack of transportation stung but if he couldn’t weasel his way into the good graces of a guy with a ride then he truly was a lost cause. Skov patted the Mitsubishi and headed towards the main building where, he knew from the online virtual tour, he could find the headmaster’s office.

Aglionby had the feel of a film set. The campus was modeled after ye olde British universities and the buildings had a weathered, respectable look. Peaked windows studded the stone walls, and there were even gargoyles and ornamental carvings along the edge of the roof. It was overkill, the sort of affectionate that rich people loved. It was the total opposite of the pack’s compound, which looked rustic on the outside but was state of the art on the inside; it was like stumbling on a hunting cabin and walking in to discover a secret science base. Deceptive.

Skov climbed the wide stairs up to the wooden doors. The door groaned when Skov pushed it open. He found himself in a large lounge area. Couches and chairs were arranged around low tables and an impressive fireplace. Pictures and art hung in heavy frames and he was surprised that there weren’t stuffed deer heads on the walls; the place had the feel of a gentleman’s hunting club.

To the right was a desk that was occupied by a dark skinned woman who was wearing the most interesting makeup Skov had ever seen outside of a club. Her lips were painted deep blue and her eyes were made up to match. Pointed acrylic nails, also dark blue, tapped furiously at a sleek MacBook. No nameplate graced her desk and Skov didn’t see anyone else around so he approached, his steps heavy on the slate floors. Standing this close to the woman he could smell all sorts of herbs but mostly patchouli. It made him sneeze repeatedly, the sound shatteringly loud in the cloistered room.

“Excuse you!” the woman said, her voice unexpectedly deep. She passed Skov a box of tissues and he took one, sniffing loudly. “Rhys Skov?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he grunted before blowing his nose.

“Hmph.” The woman gave him a hard glare; like there was something she wanted to say but chose not to. “You’re late. Class started an hour ago.”

“My flight was delayed,” Skov lied. “I’m sure I can catch up.”

“I’m sure,” she snorted. “Alright, let’s go. Headmaster Child wanted me to bring you along as soon as you arrived.”

The woman squeezed out from behind her desk and beckoned for Skov to follow. He got the impression that she didn’t like him very much. They came to a halt outside of an impressive office; Skov peeked over the woman’s shoulder and took in the floor to ceiling book shelves, the expensive rug on the floor, the desk that looked like it had been hand carved in the very room because there was no way it would fit through the door.

The woman knocked her knuckles against the doorframe and the older man behind the desk looked up from his paperwork and smiled.

“Calla, thank you so much for bringing Mr. Skov and for filling in for Rose. She just sent me an update and she should be back tomorrow.”

“Of course,” the woman – Calla – said with a tight smile. As she turned to leave Skov heard her mutter something about _damn rich boys_. He had to bite his cheek to keep from snickering.

The headmaster came around the desk. He was tall, solidly built, and had a rangy, outdoorsy vibe that was at odds with his staid office and suit and tie.

“Come in, come in,” the man said, reaching for Skov’s hand and shaking it with more firmness than Skov thought was necessary. “I’m Headmaster Child. Welcome to Aglionby Academy. I trust you had a good trip?” Skov nodded and took the seat that Child pulled out for him. “Excellent! Now, I’m sure you have questions. We have a student coming after class to give you a tour and help you settle in. But first, let’s review the Aglionby rules and honor code, shall we?”

—–

By the time Skov had finished meeting with Child, taken the tour of Aglionby (with possibly the most adorable kid on the planet for a guide), and completed all the other necessary things it was lunchtime and he was exhausted. Taking the late night flight from San Francisco to D.C. had screwed up his sense of time. Back at home it would only be nine in the morning but here it was noon and he hadn’t slept at all the night before so he was feeling extra twitchy and resentful and fucking hungry. The blonde boy, Matthew, dropped him off outside his dorm room – which was labeled with the word _Serene_ instead of a room number – and ran off to join one of his brothers for lunch. Skov felt dead on his feet but he tried to square up before entering his room; he knew nothing about his new roommate and he didn’t want to make a horrible first impression.

He pushed the door open, hoping to find the room empty, and was met with one of the most stunningly attractive guys he had ever seen. Skov wanted someone to pinch him to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

His roommate was stretched out on his stomach, facing away from the door. He had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching a video on his phone. His earbuds were in and he was lazily kicking the mattress, stretching one leg up before letting it drop, then slowly stretching the other leg in the same manner.

Skov was captivated. He stood in the doorway studying his new roommate. The guy had warm brown skin and black hair that was twisted into thin braids and kept back by a multi-colored band. He was taller and bigger than Skov and he had the most incredible calves and thighs and ass, which was obvious because he was only wearing boxers and tight grey T-shirt. Skov felt himself going weak at the knees and had to set his bags down. As he moved into the room he made another astounding, earth-shattering discovery: his roommate smelled strongly of wolf. No, not a wolf, _wolves_.


	2. SWAN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: drug use - weed, drinking, references to self harming behavior

“Zuri!”

Cold toes prodded Swan’s back, moving from just above his ass and up his spine.

“Get up, get up,” the voice whined.

Swan pulled a rose-scented pillow over his head and mumbled, “Five more minutes.”

“No more minutes.” Orla pulled the pillow away and tugged at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back.

“You never let me nap,” he complained. But it was difficult to stay annoyed with Orla, especially when she was wearing her favorite hot pink bra and thong. Her dark skin was peppered with hickeys that Swan had given her and it made him feel warm with satisfaction. He tried to wrap his arms around her soft hips but she shoved him away.

“Nope. My mom will be home with the others at any minute,” Orla reminded him. “They don’t mind me having boys over so long as you don’t _linger_. It throws off our energy.”

Swan yawned hugely and slowly sat up. He felt drained. “You always take all my energy,” he said, “I feel used.”

Orla pecked him on his cheek and dropped his clothes on his lap. “Mmm,” she hummed, “you like when I use you.”

He couldn’t argue with that. The two of them were the perfect fit; Orla had said so many times, usually while he was busy fitting perfectly inside her. He grinned and pulled on his Aglionby soccer t-shirt before finally getting to his feet. His back ached from Orla’s less than wonderful mattress and from trying to keep up with her. He tugged his boxers on next and did a few stretches while he watched Orla slip on a sheer white crop top and cut-off denim shorts. He caught a brief glimpse of the rose tattoo that graced her hip; he had gone with her to get that and during their visit he had gotten a septum piercing that his mom still didn’t know about.

Swan came up behind Orla and pulled her into a hug. She relaxed against him and tilted her neck to the side, an unspoken invitation that Swan accepted, kissing his way up her neck to her jaw.

“When can I see you again?” he asked. It felt like he was always asking, always waiting for her to text or call.

“About that…” Orla twisted around in his arms and placed her hands on his hips. Orla was nearly as tall as he was, so she didn’t have to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “There won’t be a next time, Z.”

Swan waited for the punch line but it didn’t come. Orla’s expression was unusually blank, he couldn’t read sadness or anger or anything.

“You’re breaking up with me?” he meant it to sound like a joke but it just sounded pathetic.

“We weren’t together,” Orla corrected. “Friends with excellent benefits, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Swan dropped his arms to his sides feeling deflated. “So that’s it? No more benefits. Are we still friends, at least?”

Orla grinned and tickled his ribs. “Of course, silly!” When Swan didn’t laugh or smile she sighed and started pulling her hair back into a messy bun. “I don’t want to stop this either but the cards say it’s time. You’re about to be a very busy man, Zuri.”

Swan finally got his shorts on and bent down to look for his phone and sandals in the drifts of clothes that covered Orla’s floor.

“Good busy or bad busy?” he asked.

Orla handed him his phone and shrugged. “A bit of both. If I had to guess…” she smiled mysteriously and wound a loose strand of hair around her finger, “I would say your pack is about to get bigger.”

Swan frowned. He didn’t talk pack business with Orla. Or anyone. It rankled that she had found out. But maybe she had always known. _Psychic_.

When Swan didn’t say anything in response to her baiting Orla sighed again and led the way out of her room. Swan followed her down the narrow hallway and stairs, passing opened doors and closed doors. The house felt like it had a different layout every time he visited. Blue Sargent’s door was closed and Swan was glad; whenever he was close to her his magic started acting up.

They made a brief detour to the kitchen and Orla gave him a package of herbs and tea that he had ordered from Jimi and Maura. He gave Orla a couple worn twenties in exchange. They walked out the front door and Swan stood on the porch and stared up at the old beech tree. He felt strangely homesick.

“Turn that frown upside down,” Orla teased. “You’re a good looking dude; I’m sure you’ll be warming someone else’s bed in no time, maybe one of those hot soccer bros you run with.”

Swan managed a small smile. “They are hot,” he agreed. “Mostly straight, though.”

“Ah, well.” Orla winked cheerily like she knew something Swan didn’t. It was so _her_ that for a brief second Swan almost forgot that they were over, that he wasn’t going to spend any more afternoons in her arms. He clutched the box of herbs and made himself step off the porch, retreating from the warm, hypnotizing pull of 300 Fox Way and Orla Sargent.          

Orla waved her hand, rings glinting in the sunlight, her shirt fluttering above her waist, showing off her bellybutton piercing. She didn’t say goodbye but she didn’t go inside until Swan was in his car and pulling away, heading towards Kavinsky’s.

—–

Jiang and Prokopenko’s cars were parked in Kavinsky’s driveway; the dark tire treads suggested that Jiang had yet again drifted to a stop instead of parking like a normal person. Swan pulled in behind Proko’s Golf but he didn’t immediately get out. The pack relied on him being the one who had it together; they clung to his easy-going temperament, to his ability to be whatever they needed him to be. Right now he was feeling selfish and out of sorts. If he went into Kavinsky’s like this he would throw off the vibe and cause problems.

Swan opened the glove box and pulled out the slender box that contained a couple joints K had given him earlier in the week. He didn’t smoke as much as K or Proko but right now he needed to relax.

He sat in the car and lit up, not worried about how the smell would cling to the seats. After joining Kavinsky’s pack his second hand Golf – a gift from Kavinsky – had seen it all and smelled like it too, no matter how many Tropical Breeze air fresheners he hung from the mirror. This week’s air freshener was a hula girl Kavinsky had given him as a joke; instead of arms and legs the girl waved blue tentacles. Swan watched the girl swing back and forth, swayed by the breeze that blew through his open windows. He was tired enough that he could have passed out right there, even though the summer heat was brutal and he was glistening with sweat. He took another hit and held the smoke in; by the time he exhaled he was on his feet. Swan closed the car door and headed around the side of the house, walking down the gentle hill that led to the backyard, pool, and the basement entrance to Kavinsky’s home.

Kavinsky and Prokopenko were relaxing in the shallow end of the pool, sitting on the built in steps, submerged to their chests. Proko was sucking on a red, white, and blue rocket popsicle and Kavinsky was drinking from a bottle, probably a concoction straight from his dreams.

“SWAN!” Proko yelled, waving his popsicle and splattering blue juice all over. Kavinsky cursed when the liquid landed on his face and started dripping down his chin. Swan watched as Kavinsky smacked the popsicle out of Prokopenko’s hand and grabbed Proko’s chin, demanding that he clean up the mess he made. Proko complained about his lost snack but he didn’t seem to mind licking the blue syrup off Kavinsky’s skin. Swan dipped his toes in the pool and took another hit. The tight feeling in his chest eased and he almost felt back to normal.

“Where’s Jiang?” he asked before Proko and K got too carried away.

“Inside,” Kavinsky said. “He went in to get a drink and didn’t come back. Go get him, yeah?” Proko’s sticky hands were tangled in Kavinsky’s hair and his equally sticky mouth was sucking a hickey against Kavinsky skin. Watching them made Swan feel things; it started as a warm, slow-building ache that made him want to sink into the pool and join in. He blamed it on pack bonds but that was only part of it; he had been caught up with the two of them more times than he could count.

Kavinsky’s dark eyes caught his and Swan saw a flash of gold spark around his irises. Proko bit down on Kavinsky’s shoulder, earning a sharp hiss; Kavinsky grabbed the back of his neck, not pulling him off but anchoring him. _Like a leash_ Swan thought. Only Proko could get away with biting K.

Swan passed his unfinished joint to Kavinsky and turned away while he still could. Going immediately from Orla to them felt wrong somehow – not like cheating, he and Orla had never been exclusive, but like it felt like it would be unfair to them, using them to make him feel better, even if they wouldn’t know or care.

The sliding glass door to the basement was open, spilling cold air outside and letting the bugs inside, a sure sign that Jiang was having an off day if he couldn’t be bothered to shut a door. Swan pulled the door closed and searched the den but Jiang was nowhere to be found: not napping on the couch, not buried under bean bags, not sprawled in the movie theater seats, not passed out on the floor or perched on the counter. Swan was about to move upstairs when he heard the toilet flush and Jiang stumbled out of the bathroom a few moments later, his face sweaty and pale. He startled when he saw Swan.

“Fuck,” Jiang muttered. He straightened up and tugged at his hair, releasing it from the messy twist at the base of his neck. It was a classic Jiang move—when he felt uncomfortable he played with his hair or tried to hide behind it.

“Is that any way to greet your favorite person?” Swan asked. He wove around the scattered bean bags and Jiang tracked his moves with skittish attention.

“You’re not my favorite person,” Jiang said. He was glaring but his lips twitched from holding back a smile.

“Oh?” Swan reached him and stood close, getting in his personal space.

“Jesse’s my favorite _person_ ,” Jiang explained, “but you’re my favorite witch.”

Swan laughed. “An important distinction. Can I get a hug from my favorite werewolf?”

Jiang sighed and looked very put upon but he held out his arms anyway. “Might as well get this over with, even though you reek.”

Swan wrapped his arms around Jiang’s narrow shoulders and pulled him in until they were pressed together. Jiang’s hands rested on his waist, a barely there weight. Someday Swan was going to get a proper, bone-crushing hug from Jiang.

“Ugh.” Jiang’s voice was muffled, his face buried in Swan’s t-shirt. “You smell like sex and weed and sweat.”

“Mhmm,” Swan agreed. He didn’t tell Jiang that _he_ smelled like mouthwash, a sure sign that he had been purging again.

“Orla?” Jiang asked. His tone was sharp. For some reason he didn’t like the psychic. But then he didn’t care for any of Swan’s lovers, with the exception of the pack, of course.

Swan didn’t answer him right away. He pressed his nose into Jiang’s hair and began combing his fingers through the tangled strands. The tension went out of Jiang bit by bit. This was the one thing that could calm him down, the only kind of attention he liked but would never ask for.

“Don’t pout,” Swan murmured. “She dumped me. Told me her cards said it was time.”

Jiang snorted. “That must be convenient for her.”

“I don’t know. I think she was being sincere.” Swan led Jiang to the couch and they got comfortable: Swan stretched out on the recliner at the end and Jiang nestled next to him, his head resting on Swan’s thigh. Swan continued to play with Jiang’s hair, occasionally brushing his fingers over Jiang’s throat, just the smallest amount of touch.

“What’re K and Proko doing?” Jiang asked.

“Making out in the pool, probably,” Swan answered. He rubbed Jiang’s shoulder absently. With his eyes closed and his mind blissfully empty he could pretend that everything was perfect. His pack was safe, for the moment. Jiang was right beside him; Kavinsky and Prokopenko weren’t far away. For a few more days they were free to enjoy summer before classes started.

“You gave that up to be with me?” Jiang sat up.

Swan opened his eyes and turned towards Jiang. “Yeah, J. You’re my favorite.”

Jiang blushed and pulled his hands into fists on his knees. “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not true!” Jiang snapped. His skinny shoulders shook like he might shift at any moment.

Swan held perfectly still. “Jiang.” He tried to keep his voice calm even though he didn’t feel calm. “We talked about this. I don’t lie. I would _never_ lie to you or tease you. I’m sorry if I upset you but what I said wasn’t untrue. I care about you more than anyone.”

Jiang made a pained sound and rolled off the couch, landing on his feet.

“You _can’t_ possibly,” Jiang snarled. “Not when I won’t—because I can’t—” He choked over his words and looked away, but not before Swan noticed his eyes shifting from black to green.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Swan said, guessing what Jiang couldn’t say. “Look, everyone is different, right? Kavinsky, Proko, you, me. We’re pack and we each have a different way of taking care of each other.” Jiang was shaking his head and scraping his nails – no, claws – across his forearms, leaving harsh red lines on his skin. It made Swan so upset that he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing onto Jiang’s wrists and getting in his face. “Stop that!”

Jiang was stronger than him, always would be, and he yanked out of Swan’s hold like it was nothing. Before Swan could apologize Jiang was out the door. Swan groaned and sank back onto the couch feeling like the worst friend ever.

—–

“Don’t worry about it,” Kavinsky said when Swan explained what had happened with Jiang. “It’s that time of month, he’s just out of sorts. Plus you know how he gets when you’ve been around Orla. Fucking possessive, that one, even though you two aren’t doing the nasty.”

Swan shoved Kavinsky’s shoulder. “Don’t give him a hard time about that.”

“I’m not, I’m not.” Kavinsky held his hands up in surrender. “I’m an asshole but not about that.”

They were at the fair grounds, enjoying a private bonfire and passing a bottle of vodka. Prokopenko was already asleep, curled up on a nest of blankets K had dragged out of the backseat of the Evo.

“It’s probably worse for him _because_ he’s a werewolf, you know,” Kavinsky continued. He stared into the flames, looking unusually thoughtful. “Our senses are all amped up. You came over today and I could practically smell how many times you _and_ Orla got off this afternoon. So like, Jiang’s getting constant reminders of how often people are screwing and, I don’t know, that would suck if you weren’t into that.”

Swan nodded and took another swallow of vodka. He was well on the way to drunk but K was probably still sober, unless he started drinking his dreamed up werewolf proof alcohol.

“Where’d he go?” Swan asked.

“Jesse’s.” Kavinsky snorted and threw a stick into the fire. “Why he wants to go hang out with some old, giant redneck is beyond me.”

Swan yawned and moved over to the blankets, settling down next to Proko. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and he wanted the day to be over. Before he fell asleep he felt Kavinsky lay down behind him and heard him mutter something about _weak humans_.

—–

Swan and Jiang made up by the time Monday rolled around. Well, they _kind of_ made up. Jiang didn’t mention the argument but he was talking to Swan again and pretending like nothing had happened. It was frustrating but Swan had learned that pushing Jiang to talk about his feelings always ended in a fight and Jiang going into a bloody, downward spiral; it wasn’t worth it.

They sat next to each other in Latin and passed notes like usual. Jiang had his hair pulled back and he had removed his eyebrow ring. He looked five years younger in his Aglionby uniform, especially since he was smaller than all of their classmates and perpetually underweight. Swan pulled at his tie and longed for his favorite workout shirt, the one that was cut open at the sides. Ahead of him Ronan Lynch was falling asleep at his desk and Adam Parrish was sending him scornful looks and occasionally elbowing him. Gansey was trying to get their new teacher to talk about some Welsh king.

Swan let his mind wander. His new roommate was supposed to move in today. It was a bit late; all the other students had arrived over the weekend, joining the summer boys like him, Jiang, and Prokopenko, and the other jocks who had to come early for sports camp. Headmaster Child had told him that his new roommate, Skov, was a last minute transfer student and was also a new recruit for the soccer team. Swan didn’t know how this new kid got away with skipping summer training the previous week. But then again, rich kids got away with anything. Case in point, Gansey was _still_ talking about Welsh kings and their teacher, a young professor by the name of Darcy, looked like they were on the verge of losing it.

“Well, that’s all very interesting,” Darcy interrupted. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me more about this _after_ class.” Swan almost laughed at the put out expression on Gansey’s face. “Now, if you all would turn in your textbooks to page 5…”

—–

Swan went back to his room after lunch to get out of his uniform for a bit and have a quick Skype chat with his sister. He had seen her when he flew home at the beginning of the summer and stayed with the family for a week. It had been difficult being away from the pack for so long and Swan didn’t know what he would do after they graduated. Would they all stay here with K? Did he even want that?

He didn’t tell his sister about his current worries, instead they caught up on family drama and she told him about her new girlfriend and the trials of attending the local Catholic school. By the time they hung up Swan felt homesick so he pulled up some old family videos to watch. He missed family dinners, swimming in the ocean with his siblings, watching Liam practice magic and listening to his stories. He missed early mornings on the beach, his mother burning sandalwood incense and bringing him coconut milk and cookies, his father’s rich singing voice…

Swan lay on his bed and kicked his legs while he watched a video his half-brother Raziel had sent him of turtles hatching on the beach. His muscles felt tight from sitting all morning and he was looking forward to afternoon practice. He missed soccer during the summer, though he was usually able to join pickup games in the park. The pack came to watch him play from time to time. Kavinsky didn’t know shit about soccer and only came to admire the players. Jiang came to sulk in public. Prokopenko was the only one who actually knew what was going on and would cheer at appropriate times. Swan appreciated the effort but it still left him feeling like the odd man out in their pack, the lone jock in their group of misfits.

The video ended and Swan realized that he was about to be late to astronomy. He cursed quietly and pulled his earbuds out before stumbling off the bed to get dressed for class. That’s when he noticed the guy standing in the doorway.

Swan’s first, split-second impression – _hot, 10/10_ – was slightly undermined by the strained look on the guy’s face. It was a look that Swan got more often than he cared to think about, especially in small, barely diverse towns like Henrietta. _Christ_ he thought, taking in the stiff set of the guy’s shoulders and the white-knuckled grip he had on his backpack, _please don’t be a racist asshole_.

“Uhh.” The new guy stuttered and looked away, his tanned skin flushed. “Sorry, I should have knocked before letting myself in.”

Swan frowned before remembering that he wasn’t wearing any pants.

“Oh! Sorry, man. I was just, uh…” he grabbed his navy uniform pants and hurriedly pulled them on. His neck burned with embarrassment. Great first impression, the dude probably thought he was sitting in here jerking off or something. No wonder he looked freaked out. Swan put on the rest of his uniform and smoothed out his shirt and tie. His roommate peeked at him again and visibly relaxed though his cheeks were still pink.

“So this is awkward,” Swan tried again. “I swear I wear clothes most of the time but first day… uniforms are the worst.”

The guy nodded earnestly and edged into the room, setting his bags down next to the unclaimed bed.

“I totally get that,” the new guy agreed. “Uh, my name’s Rhys, by the way. But I think you all mostly go by last names here?” Swan nodded. “Right. So then you can call me Skov, I guess?”

Swan grinned widely. “I’m Swan. First name is Zuriel, but no one calls me that ‘cept my mom. My ex called me Zuri which was cool…” Swan tried desperately to stop rambling and staring but  _damn_ his first impression was spot on and the longer he looked at Skov the more impressed he was: tall, lean, tan, grey eyes and a face that belonged on a movie star. He was one hundred percent gorgeous, even with his hair shaved down to his scalp (Swan wondered how many people would give him grief for being a Ronan look-a-like). His eyebrows were super light, almost white, making Swan think absurdly of anime characters.

“Zuri,” Skov said, trying it out. Swan felt like swooning.

The moment was interrupted by Jiang’s signature, staccato knock.

“Excuse me,” Swan said, moving around Skov to open the door. He was so flustered that he almost missed the way Skov’s body tensed up again and the silvery shift in his eyes as Swan reached for the door.

Jiang was in the room as soon as the door opened. He got in front of Swan like he was trying to shield him, his small body bowing up for a fight.

“Jiang?” Swan asked. He looked back and forth between his friend and his new roommate.

Jiang’s eyes were brilliant emerald green but Skov’s… his were shimmering silver, icy and cold and beautiful.

“Oh fuck,” Swan muttered, “not you, too.”


	3. JIANG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, eating disorder

The late summer afternoon was so warm and humid that Jiang was sweating more than usual beneath his bulky hoodie. He kept the sleeves tugged down over his wrists and plucked anxiously at the hem that fell down around his thighs. Technically the hoodie belonged to Swan but Jiang had claimed it forever ago and Swan hadn’t put up a fight over it so it was his now. Jiang had bought Swan a replacement hoodie for his birthday because he hated to see his friend shiver, teeth chattering when the Virginia winter wind howled through the mountains and woods.

It was stupid but Swan’s old hoodie was Jiang’s most prized possession. He slept in it most nights, even when it was too warm, and he wore it almost all the time when he was out of uniform. It wasn’t even a particularly great hoodie, either. It had started out as black but had been washed and worn so much that it was on the slow decline into dark grey. The strings were fraying from being chewed on and the pocket at the front sagged from being stretched to hold objects that were too large, like the entire loaf of banana bread Swan had once lifted from the dining hall.

Jiang tugged the hood over his head and got out of his car. He picked his way through the weeds and debris that choked Jesse’s front lawn, keeping an eye out for snakes and dogs. The porch was littered with jugs and bowls, as usual. A tabby stretched out on the top step and allowed Jiang to rub her belly and scratch behind her ears. The other strays had taken to Jiang after he started becoming a regular at the Dittley household.

He knocked twice on the front door and shoved his hands into the hoodie pocket, slouching further into himself. What a fucking day.

He heard Jesse’s heavy footfalls echoing through the house before the front door swung open revealing the towering redneck. He was still wearing his navy blue work coveralls, his last name embroidered on the front in red thread.

“YOU’RE JUST IN TIME FOR DINNER,” Jesse announced, holding the door open for Jiang to squeeze by.

“Spaghetti-Os?” Jiang asked. He followed the cramped hall to the equally cramped living room and into the pure chaos that Jesse called the kitchen. A pair of cats mewed from their perch on the newspapers that piled up on the kitchen table; Jiang booped one on the nose.

“YEP,” Jesse answered. He got two bowls from the cupboard and poured in generous amounts of steaming noodles and sauce. He passed one to Jiang and grabbed a glass of water before returning to his favorite recliner in the living room.

Jiang sighed and joined Jesse. He perched on a dull green recliner and poked a spoon at the pasta circles.

“I’m not really hungry,” Jiang said. It was a lie but he didn’t feel up to eating anything, let alone Spaghetti-Os.

Jesse turned on the ancient TV. A Masterpiece Theater production was on; Jiang recognized the show as the one about the famous detective who solved impossible cases. He had seen this episode already.

“WHAT’D YOU EAT TODAY?” Jesse asked.

Jiang shrugged. “I had nachos for lunch.” Actually he had eaten some Doritos behind the dining hall while Proko had smoked. The chips hadn’t really sat well with the coffee he’d had for breakfast but he’d managed to keep them down. Proko had devoured the rest of the bag, smiling dopily like the stupid cute stoner he was.

Jesse didn’t say anything else but he looked pointedly at Jiang’s bowl until Jiang humored him and ate a few bites. He planned to sneakily feed the rest to the cats.

The show played out, the detective finding impossible clues and leaping to astonishing conclusions, leaving his partner shaking his head in befuddled wonder. Jiang yawned and curled up in the huge chair, his knees pulled to his chest. He wondered if Jesse would let him stay over, if he could just drop out of school and live in this recliner for the rest of his life. Maybe if he was human. Already he could feel the pull of the moon making him restless, hungry. His skin felt too tight over his bones, his senses heightened so that he could tell exactly how many cats were prowling around the house. His stomach rumbled and felt sick from the smell of unwashed dishes in the sink; he would offer to wash them later.

After the show ended Jesse got up to make tea. Jiang summoned the cats and put his bowl of Spaghetti-Os on the floor, watching the felines eat.

“EARL GREY ALRIGHT?” Jesse called from the kitchen. “MILK AND SUGAR?”

“Sounds good,” Jiang replied. Tea meant talking but he didn’t mind. Jesse was the only adult he could tolerate. He knew he leaned on him and his loneliness too much. Jesse missed being a dad and Jiang missed… a lot.

He had met Jesse during his first year at Aglionby, when he had tried to permanently run away. His wolf had found Jesse’s cave during a full moon run and Jiang had snuck back onto the property before his next shift and broken the lock on the door leading to the cave, making sure that he would be able to get in while in his wolf form. His plan had worked.

_It was the Full Wolf Moon and bitterly cold, a shallow blanket of snow covering the hard ground. Jiang slunk into the cave, prowling farther back into the darkness. The wolf didn’t like it, didn’t want to die but Jiang did. He willed himself to curl up in a narrow shaft, chilly nose tucked into his tail, and shut his tired eyes._

_He hadn’t counted on the cave being haunted. The voice singing in the dark nearly drove him from the cave but the taunts were worse. Whatever spirit possessed the old cave was vicious and cruel, prodding each of Jiang’s faults, driving him deeper into his despair. Time and space became concepts. All he knew was darkness and cold and terror, too afraid now to move from his hiding place._

_By the time the man found him he had shifted back into his human skin and was shaking controllably, his naked body locked in the fetal position. He remembered thinking the man was a giant, a hallucination._

_“THE HELL?” The man’s voice thundered and echoed in the cavern, drowning out the awful teasing voice._

_Jiang couldn’t answer, his teeth were chattering too hard. When the man moved closer Jiang did manage a weak growl, canines lengthening and cutting into his lip. He wanted to die but he didn’t want to be captured again. Anything but that._

_“EASY THERE.” The man set down his flashlight and peeled off his heavy Carhartt jacket, moving slowly as he leaned down and draped it over Jiang’s shivering body. He stepped back a few feet and sat down on the cave floor. The voice snickered and cooed. “WE NEED TO GET YOU OUT OF THIS CAVE,” the man said. “IT’S CURSED.”_

_Jiang whimpered. He wasn’t sure if he could stand but he pulled on the jacket and zipped it up, his fingers trembling so hard that it too several minutes to accomplish this. The man looked away, his gaze focused on the darkness at the back of the cave._

_The man offered his large hand to help Jiang up but Jiang refused to take it, painfully leveraging himself off the ground and leaning against the damp cave wall. His chest ached and his legs shook. He had only taken a few steps forward before the darkness swooped in._

_When he woke up he was in a strange room, covered in a mound of afghans and surrounded by a crowd of curious cats. The TV was switched to the history channel and the enormous man was sitting in front of it, sipping from a mug and idly petting a calico cat. For a brief moment Jiang felt relief but it was swiftly followed by disappointment. He had thought that he had found a sure fire way to die but he was still alive._

_The man noticed that he was awake and muted the TV. He peered at Jiang; Jiang peered back._

_“YOU ALRIGHT?” Jiang was shocked again by how loud the man was. His thick Henrietta accent was nearly incomprehensible._

_Jiang tried to answer but his throat felt too sore so he shrugged and pulled the covers up to his neck._

_“YOU PASSED OUT,” the man supplied, “BUT YOU DON’T SEEM HURT.” He paused and his stare intensified, like he was trying to figure Jiang out. “WHAT ARE YOU?”_

_Jiang was so taken aback by the question that he spoke, despite the pain, his voice coming out low and hoarse. “I’m a boy.”_

_The man gave him an odd look and shook his head. “I MEANT YOUR EYES AND TEETH. THEY AIN’T RIGHT.”_

_Jiang reached up to touch his face and discovered that his claws had inched out. He felt around his mouth, carefully touching his sharp teeth. His wolf tended to surface when he felt threatened; he hadn’t been able to achieve control over it no matter what his Alpha had done to correct his reactions._

_When he didn’t respond the man tried again. “YOU ONE OF THEM WEREWOLVES? FROM THE HURT PACK?”_

_“I – I –,” Jiang didn’t know what to say. First rule of being a werewolf: never tell anyone you’re a werewolf. “I go to Aglionby,” Jiang said._

_“I DIDN’T KNOW THEY HAD YOUR TYPE THERE.”_

_“My type?” Jiang was suddenly so furious he couldn’t stop the low roar from coming out._

_“YOU’RE A PRICKLY ONE,” the man observed calmly. “WEREWOLVES, BOY. I DIDN’T KNOW Y’ALL WENT TO SCHOOLS.”_

_“Oh.” Jiang sagged against the chair. “I’m the only one.” The loneliness was crippling. As much as he hated his pack he hated his isolation at Aglionby even more. They hadn’t even given him a roommate for “reasons.”_

_The man nodded slowly. “WHAT WERE YOU DOING IN MY CAVE?”_

_Jiang picked at the afghan; it was covered in little balls of fluff and it felt very satisfying to tear them off. The silence stretched and Jiang’s stomach grumbled. How long had it been since he’d eaten? His semi-starved state was probably why he was feeling gross and achy, usually his werewolf healing kept him from getting sick._

_“I was… lost.” That was a blatant lie but Jiang didn’t feel like opening up to anyone, let alone a stranger._

_“HMM.” The man got up and walked into the nearby kitchen. Jiang could hear him puttering around. When he returned he had two mugs of hot chocolate, the kind made from instant packages. A cluster of tiny little marshmallows floated on top._

_“MY CAVE’S CURSED,” the man said and Jiang remembered him saying that earlier, when they were in the cave. “DON’T GO BACK IN THERE, YOU HEAR?” Jiang nodded and took a sip of the hot chocolate. It was the best thing he’d tasted in forever. “MY NAME’S JESSE DITTLEY.”_

_“I’m Jiang.” He hated the way his voice sounded as he said his name._

_They had sat in silence and drank their hot chocolate. Jesse went to the back of the house and returned with an armload of clothes and a pair of boots._

_“THESE BELONG TO MY BOY. HE’S TOO BIG FOR THEM NOW BUT THEY SHOULD FIT YOU.”_

_Jiang reached over and grabbed the shirt. It clearly belonged to a younger boy, not a teenager; the image on the front was from a kids TV show. But Jesse was right, the shirt looked about his size. Jiang’s neck burned as he imagined how it would look on him. He didn’t have his binder but maybe, with a hoodie on over the shirt, no one would notice._

_“Thanks,” Jiang said._

_“YEP. BATHROOM’S DOWN THE HALL IF YOU WANT PRIVACY.”_

_Jesse shuffled into the kitchen and Jiang took the clothes to the bathroom. He locked the rickety door and examined the strange, exceedingly retro bathroom. It reminded him of his grandparents’ house, which hadn’t been redecorated since the 1970s._

_Turning away from the mirror over the sink Jiang took off Jesse’s jacket and stepped into the shower to wash the mud and blood from his skin. He wasn’t sure what the blood was from since his skin had already healed. Werewolf healing was supposed to be a benefit but it irked Jiang to no end. He wanted cuts and bruises, ugly scars, but his transformation denied him that, just as it had worked against all of his attempts to end his life._

_After cleaning up Jiang pulled on the boy briefs and cargo pants. The pants slid off his narrow hips but the belt Jesse provided kept them from falling down. Next was the long-sleeve shirt and – thank goodness – a baggy hoodie. The boots were too big but manageable. Jiang turned around and took in his reflection. He looked like shit, his skin sickly pale and his eyes shadowed. His long hair hung past his shoulders and down his back. He cupped a hand over his throat and glared at his reflection. Still alive, unfortunately._

_He returned to the living room he found Jesse waiting for him._

_“THOSE FIT YOU GOOD,” Jesse said._

_“Where’s your son?” Jiang asked. It was pretty clear from his limited observation that Jesse lived alone._

_“HE AND HIS MOTHER MOVED BACK IN WITH HER FOLKS BECAUSE OF THE CAVE.”_

_“The cave…” Jiang recalled the horrible voice, the terrible things it had said about him. “What’s in there?”_

_“I DON’T KNOW BUT I KEEP IT UNDER LOCK. WHICH YOU BROKE.”_

_“I’m sorry.” Jiang scuffed his foot over the floor. “I’ll buy you a replacement.”_

_“DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. LET’S GET YOU BACK TO YOUR SCHOOL.”_

That had been their beginning. Jiang came back a few days later to return the borrowed clothes and give Jesse a new lock and a box of fancy hot chocolate mix. He stuck around to ask Jesse more about the local werewolf pack and the cursed cave. Jesse was a wealth of knowledge about Henrietta and the strange supernatural elements that were woven through the town and the surrounding area. Soon it became a habit, Jiang showing up on Jesse’s doorstep whenever he was struggling, whenever he needed a friend to talk to. Things got better after he met Swan, then Kavinsky and Prokopenko, but he still continued to regularly visit Jesse and tell him about what was going on at Aglionby or with the pack.

It hadn’t even been a full week since Jiang had come over last but Jesse didn’t seem to mind. He brought out their tea, setting the mugs on the cluttered TV table. Summer was an odd time to drink hot tea but that was another one of Jesse’s quirks; he was the only southern that Jiang had met who preferred hot tea to iced tea. And iced tea, in the south, meant that there was loads of sugar in it. Definitely not something Jiang was used to having up where his pack lived, just on the edge of the Canadian wilderness.

“WHAT’S EATIN’ YOU TODAY?” Jesse asked. His recliner groaned as he settled in.

Jiang sighed. It felt like everything was getting under his skin, his irritability always heightened at the beginning of a new school year.

“A new wolf showed up this year,” he said. He glared at his shoes, feeling his chest heat with remembered embarrassment. “He’s rooming with Swan.”

“OH.” Jesse rubbed his palm over his knee and grimaced. “WHAT’S YOUR ALPHA THINK OF THAT?”

Jiang shrugged. “He’s not so bothered by it but he should be, right? We don’t know this guy. He could have been sent to spy on us or take us down. Or, like, to steal Swan because witches are pretty rare. And Swan…” Jiang trailed off, remembering their fight. “Swan likes him.”

“HUH.” Jesse sipped his tea. “DID HE TELL YOU THAT?”

“I could _smell_ it,” Jiang said, casting a sour look at Jesse. “Being a werewolf really sucks.”

Jiang had been desperately trying to forget about his confrontation with Skov but every few minutes the memory would assert itself, burning like bile crawling up his throat. It had been so _awful_ and the worst of it was that Swan had witnessed all of it. _Swan…_

_Jiang pushed Swan back, his panic soaring and making his wolf rise up in him. He couldn’t think. His instincts were telling him that the guy standing in front of him was a threat, that he could hurt Swan, that Swan was defenseless against him. He wanted to attack before it was too late, put down this strange wolf and figure things out after._

_“Jiang, stop it!” Swan wrapped his arms around Jiang’s waist and lifted him up off the ground._

_Jiang snarled, gnashing his sharp teeth. “You stop it!” Jiang growled. “He’s a wolf, you idiot!”_

_“Yeah, I can see that, thanks! Just calm the fuck down!” Swan snapped. He was angry and annoyed, which made Jiang feel like shit._

_Jiang didn’t fight against Swan’s hold; too worried that he would injure him in the process. At least he was still a barrier between Swan and the unknown wolf. The guy was staring him down with eyes that flickered a cool shimmery silver. He was powerful – not just physically – his presence was overpowering, almost Alpha level._

_“This is my new roommate, Skov,” Swan said, his mouth so close to Jiang’s ear that Jiang could feel the brush of his lips. “Skov, this is Jiang, my best friend and my packmate.” Skov nodded at them, still eyeing Jiang warily. Swan squeezed Jiang tighter until Jiang relaxed. “Please, for my sake, get along? At least until the full moon?” He set Jiang back on the ground._

_“Whatever,” Jiang muttered. He glared at Skov, pointing a clawed finger at his chest. “But if you even think about hurting Swan I will take you down.” Then he turned to Swan and stood on tiptoes so he could whisper in his ear. It was pointless since Skov could hear him anyway but he had to say it. “Don’t ever do that again.”_

_He had stormed out before Swan could say anything and had spent the rest of the school day avoiding the pack. He was dying to know what Kavinsky made of the new arrival but if he saw K he might see Swan and he couldn’t take that. Not after the way Swan had acted. He felt sick remembering how Swan and Skov smelled, the mutual interest so thick that Jiang was sure that they were moments away from ripping each other’s clothes off and fucking right then and there. Honestly that had been the worst – not the threat that Skov posed – but the undeniable proof that, yet again, Swan was lusting after some other person. It was always someone else and never him._

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Jesse’s voice broke Jiang out of his unhappy memories.

“Not really?” Jiang drank some tea. “It’s just stressful. I felt like the pack finally had a good balance but now…” He tapped his thumb on the side of the mug. “He’s gonna fuck it all up.”

“LANGUAGE.” Jesse gave him a stern look and Jiang rolled his eyes. He forgot sometimes that he was talking to someone who could easily be his dad. Jesse was pretty lax about some things and surprisingly open-minded – he never batted an eye about Jiang being trans and gay _and_ a werewolf.

“Sorry,” Jiang said. “Anyways that’s what’s going on with me. How’s the curse?”

Jesse shook his large head mournfully. “BEEN GETTIN’ LOUDER. THE POWER WENT OUT SUNDAY AND I HAD TO THROW OUT EVERYTHING IN THE FRIDGE. AS SOON AS I TOOK OUT THE LAST TRASH BAG THE POWER CAME BACK.” Jesse leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “IT’S A SPITEFUL THING.”

“At least the cats are okay.” Jiang stroked the small black and white kitten that had crawled up on his lap while they were talking.

“YEP. THAT ONE’S FROM MISS KITTY’S LITTER. YOU DON’T NEED A KITTEN, DO YOU?”

Jiang thought about it. He was semi-confident that he could keep a kitten in his single dorm. If he could hide his werewolf nature from their RA then certainly he could hide a kitten.

“As a matter of fact,” Jiang said, “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the flashbacks aren't too confusing? I did them in italics to try and set them apart. Also I realized tonight that I've been spelling Jesse's name wrong... *face palm*


	4. KAVINSKY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW: sexy times ;)
> 
> TW: recreational drug use, mentions of homophobic parents

“ _Come the fuck on_ ,” Proko snarled, tugging hard on Kavinsky’s trademark gold chain. “Put your back into it, K.”

Bossy pillow princess Proko was so fucking hilarious that Kavinsky laughed, losing his rhythm, which only pissed off Proko even more. The new strain Kavinsky had been smoking took away his sense of urgency and Proko was right, he clearly wasn’t as into this as the boy underneath him.

“Ugh,” Proko complained, “let’s change it up. I can fuck myself better on your cock than whatever the hell you’re trying to do right now.”

“You…” Kavinsky slurred, a wide, lazy smile splitting his face. “You’re so _aggressive_ today, babe. Full moon got you shook?”

“Fuck you,” Proko growled and flipped him over onto his back. He straddled Kavinsky, guiding him into place and taking what he wanted. Kavinsky watched him through half-closed eyes, liking what he saw. Out of the lot of them Swan was easily the best looking but Proko came in a close second in the looks department. He was soft and plump, especially his stomach, which was adorably pudgy. His light hair was colored pastel pink, cut in a ragged fringe that endlessly vexed the Aglionby administrators. He had good features: plush lips, warm eyes. The piercings that studded his nipples leant him a rebellious edge and he’d been begging for tattoos ever since they had run away. Kavinsky loved everything about him.

“K, _c’mon_ ,” Proko pleaded. “Don’t you dare go soft on me. I’m almost there…” His cheeks were flushed, whether from anger or arousal Kavinsky couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kavinsky almost yawned but managed to hold it in. The drugs were a new attempt at managing his shift and keeping him docile in the tense days leading up to the full moon. Turns out they weren’t great for his sex life. “Try choking me,” he suggested. “That always gets me going.”

“Gladly,” Proko muttered. He wrapped his hands around Kavinsky’s throat, not being as careful as he would with a human. One werewolf perk was that he could take it rough and bounce back immediately thanks to his accelerated healing.

Proko squeezed and _that_ Kavinsky felt. The sensation shocked him back into his body, into the moment, made him feel everything so intensely that he trembled. His hands clawed at the sheets, tearing them. His brain buzzed with the lack of oxygen, dark spots beginning to prick at the edge of his vision.

Proko was breathing hard enough for both of them, sweat dripping down his face, his chest. He looked perfect, he felt perfect. His mouth hung open as he panted, losing himself to his pleasure.

It was quite a sight and Kavinsky hated to break the spell but he really couldn’t breathe and was on the verge of passing out. He may have been an Omega and the weakest in their pack but he was still stronger than Proko. He bucked his hips up, eliciting a deep moan from Proko, and swapped their positions again. Proko toppled onto the mattress and Kavinsky manhandled him, turning him on his side and spreading him wide.

The effects of the drugs were gone and his brief bout of asphyxiation had sharpened him, making him painfully aroused and eager to give Proko everything he wanted. Neither one of them was going to last long at this point so Kavinsky really did put his back into it, pounding into Proko, making him cry out louder and louder. The words poured out of Proko in a filthy, broken stream of expletives and demands and pleas and prayers to every deity and devil but ended with a loud, guttural shout— _Kavinsky_.

His orgasm peaked soon after Proko’s. He bit down hard on Proko’s shoulder, nearly breaking the skin, as his hips jerked and he emptied himself into Proko.

“God damn,” Proko moaned. He stretched out on his stomach, his arm thrown across Kavinsky. “Is my ass still there? Cause I can’t feel anything from the waist down.”

“Lemme check.” Kavinsky reached for his discarded shirt and wiped off his front before propping himself up to get a better look. “Mmm, yeah it’s still there. Hold on, let me document this fine looking ass.” His phone was buried under one of the pillows. Proko protested but Kavinsky still took the pic and showed it to him. “See there? Mostly intact. Nice and rosy pink with scratch marks. And look at how messy you are, babe. Want me to take care of you?”

“Pfft,” Proko snorted. He grabbed a pillow and pressed his face into it. “If you want,” he said, voice muffled.

“Yeah, I want.” Kavinsky moved down the bed, settling in behind Proko. He felt both deliciously sated and greedy. Proko squirmed at the first pass of his tongue, at the intentional scrape of his teeth. Satisfaction curled tight and hot in Kavinsky’s gut. He could do this all day.

—–

They didn’t leave Kavinsky’s bedroom until late afternoon, when physical hunger surpassed their other appetites. Proko was dragging, hanging off Kavinsky’s arm and stumbling into the walls like he was drunk.

“Do you need me to carry you?” Kavinsky teased.

Proko slumped against him. “Yessssss. God, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk right ever again.”

Kavinsky rolled his eyes and hoisted Proko over his shoulder, giving his ass an affectionate pat. “You say that every time, Pro. I think you’re just fuckin’ lazy.”

“I’m just a weak human boy,” Proko drawled, the side of his face pressed to Kavinsky’s back, his arms hanging limply and brushing the back of Kavinsky’s thighs. “I deserve to be spoiled.”

Kavinsky snorted and trudged down the hall. “Don’t give me any of that _Twilight_ shit, man. For starters, you weigh more than me so don’t try to pass yourself off as a delicate flower. Also, Swan is human and I never heard him complain so much.”

“Swan is a witch!” Proko objected. “And he’s built like whoa. But I’m a mere mortal whose only talents are giving really good head and, uh, being chill with the supernatural.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” Kavinsky argued. He set Proko on top of the kitchen counter and started digging through the fridge for leftovers. “You’re a very important member of this pack. You’re like… avocado, you know? We would be lost without you.”

“Did you seriously just compare me to an avocado?!” Proko lay back on the counter, kicking his heels against the side. The extra large T-shirt he was wearing slid up his thighs and when Kavinsky looked up from his rummaging he got an X-rated panty shot – minus the panties.

Maybe he really was an animal because all thoughts of food vanished. He kept it together long enough to text Swan and ask him to bring pizza and the new guy. It was time he got his shit together and investigated Aglionby’s newest lupine transplant. But first, Proko.

—–

He and Proko were lying on the kitchen floor playing a drunken game of Fuck, Marry, Kill when Swan finally showed up with Nino’s.

“K!” Swan’s voice echoed down the hallway. “I hope you’re decent, I brought Skov.”

Kavinsky was semi-decent in his track pants and Proko was back in his tent of a shirt. Plus he’s been _decent_ enough to clean up the mess they had made while they were waiting.

“I’m never decent!” He yelled back. His stomach rumbled as the scent of pizza filled the house. He could also smell the new wolf, Skov. Even before the new guy entered the room Kavinsky knew: he was in deep for Swan, his eager scent nearly suffocating. Thankfully Jiang wasn’t there to witness it or he would lose his shit.

Proko swallowed another mouthful of vodka and passed the bottle back to Kavinsky. He wasn’t sober enough to really care about visitors or decency or pizza. Kavinsky ruffled his soft hair before shoving his head off of his lap. Proko swore at him and made himself comfortable on the tile floor.

Swan entered the kitchen first and Kavinsky read his minute reaction of _did they just fuck in here_ before it was smoothed away. He set the pizza boxes down on the counter anyways.

“Jesus, K,” Swan complained, “is Proko already wasted?”

Skov hung back in the entryway looking like he wasn’t thrilled to be here.

“You know with Proko ‘already’ isn’t the right terminology,” Kavinsky said. “He’s always in a perpetual state of buzzed, stoned, or trashed. Right, Ilya?”

Proko managed to sit up and flip Kavinsky off. “Fuck off or gimme some pizza.”

“As you wish.” Kavinsky kissed the top of his head and hopped to his feet. Despite drinking half the bottle of vodka he wasn’t feeling any effects. Which was a shame. Reality was a lot to bear while sober.

“Whadya get?” he asked Swan even as he flipped the boxes open.

“That weird ass cheese pizza you like that has feta, the Dick III special, and mushroom.”

Skov edged into the room, lured by the pizza. Kavinsky grabbed a slice of the cheese and passed it down to Proko before pushing the sausage and avocado pizza towards Skov.

“Don’t be shy,” Kavinsky crooned, “have some food, grab a drink. As you can see, my pack isn’t a formal affair.”

Skov took a piece of pizza and held it like he was allergic to gluten or cheese or some shit. Everything about him was on edge and he kept scanning for exits. Swan bumped his arm and that eased him a little. He took a bite of pizza, chewing with exaggerated care.

“Fuck,” Kavinsky laughed. He folded up his slice of mushroom pizza and wolfed it down in a five enormous bites. “You,” he mumbled around his full mouth, “are so damn _skittish_.”

“Hey,” Swan protested, “be cool, K. Remember what Jiang used to be like?”

Kavinsky did remember. Vividly. Jiang had been so damaged that it was like he couldn’t stand to be near anyone, ever. He was like an anxious, angry ghost, slinking around campus before running off into the woods or driving, driving, always driving away. It had taken ages to ease him into the pack and it never would have happened without Swan’s warm and comforting aura. Swan was the only person who Jiang let touch him; he was still wary of Kavinsky and Proko even though, in a normal pack, he would have outranked them.

“It’s fine,” Skov said. His voice was quiet but not afraid. Kavinsky could sense his frayed edges but once again Swan was working his magic, soothing this timid Alpha wolf. “You’re right,” he said, looking at Kavinsky, “I’m not comfortable here. No offense.”

“None taken,” Kavinsky said with a shrug. “C’mon, let’s move outside. We got a fire pit and a pool and I’ve been inside too long.”

Swan got the pizza again and Kavinsky grabbed a six-pack from the fridge and slid it across the counter towards Skov. Proko wasn’t keen on moving but Kavinsky peeled him off the floor and tossed him over his shoulder.

“Ugh,” Proko groaned. “Why are we going outside? It’s bright out there…”

Swan laughed. “What are you, a vampire?”

“Yeah, man,” Proko deadpanned. “Since this fucker,” he tugged on Kavinsky’s hair, “refuses to bite me I had to find alternative paths to join the supernatural club.”

Skov made a confused sound. “You’re not…?” his voice trailed off as he tried to puzzle out the riddle of Ilya Prokopenko.

“Fucking all day doesn’t really count as exercise,” Kavinsky told Proko, turning the conversation away from sensitive topics. “You need a swim.”

“Your mom needs a swim,” Proko muttered darkly.

Kavinsky snorted. “Kitten’s got claws.”

They set up at the poolside table and Proko, not bothered in the slightest by Skov’s presence, stripped off his shirt and stretched out on the reclining pool chair in all his pasty glory.

Swan rolled his eyes but he also took off his shirt, revealing his perfectly sculpted torso.

“Yes, let’s all get naked and talk about our feelings,” Kavinsky sighed. “Then we’ll paint fingernails and dish on which Lynch brother is the most fuckable.”

Skov missed all of his witticisms because he was blatantly staring at Swan’s abs like he’d never seen a shirtless boy in all his life. Again Kavinsky thanked his patron saint that Jiang was either too busy or too pissed to attend this impromptu get together.

“We all know you like Ronan, K,” Proko said.

“True.” Kavinsky settled onto the chair next to Proko. “But I’d totally fuck Declan.”

“Same,” Swan agreed. He opened a beer and took a long swallow, looking like a model from a beer ad. He was wearing shades that he had gotten from somewhere and Kavinsky was pretty sure that he was subtly flexing with every move. Skov was transfixed.

“Uh, who?” Skov’s voice was strained. Kavinsky nearly gagged on the waves of arousal pouring off the poor dude.

“The Lynch brothers. Here, lemme find a pic.” Swan leaned over into Skov’s space and started looking through his phone. Kavinsky watched a bead of sweat travel down Skov’s clenched jaw. This was better than cable.

“Oh!” Skov exclaimed. “That kid gave me a tour. Weird… he doesn’t look like his brothers at all.”

“That would be Matthew Lynch,” Swan explained. “100% off limits.”

“God, no, I wasn’t—” Skov protested.

“It’s fine,” Kavinsky laughed. “You’ll discover that Ronan and Declan fight like a divorced couple but they stay together for the kid. And they would gladly murder anyone who even thinks about hurting Matthew.”

Skov nodded slowly. He was looking at Proko again, an unspoken question forming in his mind.

Swan continued his Aglionby who’s who talk, sitting way too close to Skov in order to show him more pics from his Instagram. Soon he was on to introducing folks in his Henrietta sphere including, Kavinsky was amused to hear, Orla.

Eventually Skov relaxed and ate nearly an entire pizza, his appetite rivaling Swan’s. Kavinsky chimed in with stories about their substance parties and other shenanigans. Proko took a nap. The sun was setting when they finally got down to pack business.

Kavinsky lit up and offered the joint to Skov. Maybe it was the beer, the sun, or Swan’s closeness, but Skov had mellowed enough to take a hit and then pass it along to Swan. Proko also accepted the joint and handed it back to Kavinsky.

“Alright,” Kavinsky said, “now that we’re all fucking cozy, tell us why you’re here, Skov. It’s a rare thing that an Alpha in the making gets sent away from their pack. So, is this exile or a mission or are you running away?”

Skov coughed and Swan patted his back, leaving his hand on Skov’s shoulder. “Exile,” Skov rasped. “It’s punishment. I’m supposed to get my crazy out and go home ready to step into the family business and my place in the pack.” He clenched his hands into fists, his body shivering. Swan gripped his shoulder before tugging him into a firm side hug. Such a fucking softie.

“That sucks,” Kavinsky said. “What did you do to upset your Alpha?”

“K.” Swan met his eyes and shook his head.

“You don’t _have_ to tell me,” Kavinsky amended. “But we can’t help you if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”

“Oh, we’re helping him now?” Proko cut in. His tone was sour. “He’s not even pack.”

“Babe…” Kavinsky reached for Proko but Proko shrugged him off.

“I don’t think you can help me,” Skov said miserably. “It’s not something that can be fixed. But my dad – my Alpha – doesn’t get that. He’s stupidly old school.”

“We won’t judge you,” Swan said softly. “Hell, we’re probably the most open minded pack in existence. Our leader is this scrawny Omega,” he said and gestured to Kavinsky, “and Jiang is the only other wolf amongst us.”

“And I don’t even have superpowers,” Proko said sulkily. Kavinsky rolled his eyes.

Skov frowned, his face screwed up and his body tense. Kavinsky studied him, trying to guess what had this kid so conflicted.

“Okay, okay,” Skov said. His voice shook and he gripped his knees, breathing shallowly. “It’s not even a big deal. It’s so fucking stupid—” He pulled away from Swan and took a moment to compose himself. He looked up and met Kavinsky’s gaze. “I like getting fucked by men. That’s it. That’s my big secret.” He laughed bitterly. “It was barely a secret. Everyone _knew_ but I was discreet. It only took me getting caught with the assistant soccer coach and then my dad lost his shit.” Skov exhaled hard and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think he’d mind so much except… except – God it’s so _stupid_! He thinks I’m fucked up because I like being on the bottom. Like Alphas can only ever be the dominant partners in a relationship.” Kavinsky had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Skov noticed because his lips quirked into a bitter smile. “Yeah, I know, it’s fucking ridiculous. I mean, I’m not ashamed of who I am or what I want but getting the shit beaten out of me and then being sent across the fucking country does take a toll.”

Swan made a sympathetic noise and even Proko looked concerned. Kavinsky knew all about abusive Alphas and shitbag fathers. And maybe there would be a time for them to talk about that but it wasn’t now. That wasn’t what Skov needed now.

“Skov,” Kavinsky said, his voice serious, “if you want, you can be part of our pack. We’ll never judge you and I for one would be very happy to fuck you whenever you’re feeling the need.” He gave Skov his most wolfish grin. Skov’s jaw dropped in surprise and then he started laughing, so hard that he nearly fell off his seat.

“Well, fuck,” Skov said once he could breathe again. “How can I turn down an offer like that? Count me in.”

Kavinsky smiled. Yeah, this kid was okay. He could stay.


	5. PROKOPENKO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW: sexy times (not explicit) TW for mentions of past trauma/violence

“Man, you gotta listen to that right now?” Swan complained.

Proko bobbed his head to the song and pretended not to hear Swan. The trees loomed over them and the path Swan was following was little more than a deer trail through the forest. Proko hoisted his backpack and turned up the volume on his phone, “Turn Down For What” blasting obscenely in the quiet woods.

“Dude, seriously!” Swan turned around and grabbed the phone from Proko’s hand, powering it down before pocketing it. “Did you forget that we’re not alone out here?” He hissed.

“Oh, fuck off with that scary movie shit, Swan,” Proko said. “I don’t care if every redneck werewolf is within shouting distance. DID YOU HEAR ME, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS? I DON’T CARE! COME AND BITE ME!”

Swan lunged for him, shoving Proko against one of the millions of trees, his palm pressed over Proko’s mouth. Swan looked totally spooked, his eyes darting around like a hoard of supernatural creatures were about to pop out from behind the trees and rocks.

Usually Proko was better than this but right now – knowing that Kavinsky was off somewhere with Jiang and fucking _Skov_ , getting ready for their shift – well, he was feeling like a spurned bitch.

Swan was plastered against him but he didn’t even seem to notice, which was frustrating as hell. Proko pushed his hips against Swan’s, grinding as hard as he could manage. That got Swan’s attention. Proko licked Swan’s palm and ground against him again.

“Pro…” Swan removed his hand from Proko’s mouth and gently brushed his hair out of his eyes. Proko moved up on his tiptoes, trying to reach Swan’s lips. They didn’t get much alone time and the full moon always made Proko more horny than usual. Swan looked down at him and pressed his thumb to Proko’s lips, letting Proko suck his finger in. Swan’s breath hitched and he moved closer, already burning hot against Proko’s skin.

“C’mon, Swan,” Proko breathed. “I want you.”

Swan rolled his eyes dramatically but he still leaned down to capture Proko’s mouth, kissing him with the same gentle intensity he had when fucking.

“Always so sweet,” Swan murmured. He kissed Proko’s neck, his large hands gripping Proko’s hips, keeping him still. “And addictive.”

“I’m the new crack,” Proko joked. He held onto Swan’s shoulders, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Swan always smelled amazing, like the cocoa butter lotion he used and the sandalwood incense he burned whenever he said his prayers. Swan pinched his side, tickling him lightly until Proko giggled.

“You’re more like those coconut butter cookies Jiang makes,” Swan said. “You take one bite and next thing you know you’ve eaten twenty.” He shivered and Proko grinned, holding on tighter.

“Is that your roundabout way of saying you want to eat me up? Because I’m fine with that.”

Swan’s breath was warm on his collarbone before his teeth nipped at Proko’s skin. “I’ll totally eat you up, Pro. Someone needs to save you from the Big Bad Wolf.”

“Oh?” Proko shimmied against Swan, pulling one leg up around his hip until Swan got the hint and lifted him, hands under Proko’s thighs. “Are we doing some Little Red Riding Hood role play?” Proko cooed. “Are you the huntsman?”

Swan laughed. “I’ll be whatever you want, baby. But we should get to the campsite first. I want to get set up before it’s dark.” He held onto Proko and moved away from the tree before setting him on his feet.

“SWAN!” Proko cried, pounding his fists against Swan’s chest. “You are such a fuckin’ tease!”

“And you are incorrigible,” Swan said. He took hold of Proko’s wrists and led him down the trail. “K may put up with your brattiness but not me, baby.”

Proko trudged after him, pretending to sulk. Yeah, he liked being a brat, liked making Kavinsky give into him. But he also liked when Swan made him behave and turned on the tough love. He liked being called _baby_ and being spoiled when he was good. There really wasn’t much of anything he didn’t like. He wondered what the new guy – _Skov_ – liked, besides being on the bottom. Proko wasn’t sure how to feel about him. It wasn’t like he was jealous, not about K or Swan fucking him, but he did resent that Skov was a wolf. It wasn’t fair.

“Hey, Swan,” Proko called to him, “do ya think Skov would bite me if I asked?”

Swan’s grip on his wrists tightened. “No.”

“Why?” he whined. “It’s not fair. I don’t like being left out.”

Swan sighed. “You’re not left out, Ilya. I’m not a wolf, either.”

“No, you’re _only_ a born witch. What am I? I’m not even human but I still can’t do shit.”

He had figured out the big secret – his not so human existence – almost immediately after coming back. He had woken up in bed with Kavinsky, the other boy sitting beside him, cradling his hand and looking so wrung out that Proko had known something truly bad had happened. His memories were fuzzy. Kavinsky’s father had taken him, tied him up, set some of his wolves to guard him. It got bad, Kavinsky fighting against his father, trying to save him. Proko couldn’t see, his eyes covered by a blindfold, his hands tied behind his back. He could only listen as Kavinsky howled for him, listened as those howls and snarls became wounded yelps and piercing keens of pain. Proko had yelled, too, begged them to stop hurting K. They didn’t stop. Then Proko had felt the brush of fur over his bound hands, felt hot animal breath on his face, felt the almost gentle pressure of fangs against his throat. Kavinsky had screamed and screamed and then—

“Proko?” Swan shook him and Proko blinked heavily, trying to regain focus.

“Hmm? I think I zoned out…” He swallowed against the remembered pain. Not many people got to have their throat ripped out and live – well, come back – to tell about it.

“You were choking,” Swan said. He sounded a little spooked but he looked calm. Proko’s episodes weren’t exactly common, though they did tend to increase around the full moon.

“Must be allergic to all this nature shit.” Proko smiled faintly and ducked out of Swan’s hold.

Swan sighed but didn’t push it. “You good? We can take a break. It’s about an hour to the campsite but taking a breather won’t make us late.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Proko shifted his backpack and gripped the straps, trying to look tougher than he was. “Sooner we make camp, the sooner you fuck me, right?”

Swan rolled his eyes. “Right, right. Let’s go, slut.” He held his hand out and Proko took it. Swan squeezed his fingers and set off at an easy pace that Proko could match.

Proko let Swan’s warm, calming aura slide over him and felt the dregs of his flashback slip from his consciousness. As much as he was bonded to K, he felt just as connected to Swan. He felt more like himself, more _human_ , when he was under Swan or wrapped up in one of his hugs. Maybe it was because Swan had never known the Before Prokopenko; he only knew this version of him. Kavinsky sometimes stared at Proko like just looking at him caused him pain. Or there were the nights when Kavinsky dreamed of his death and woke up bloody and gasping, scrambling away from him and fleeing from their room.

Proko shook his head and focused on the path. They were threading through the national forest, moving off the well-traveled hiking trails. Each month they took a slightly different course but they always ended up at the same place: a natural cave near a swift-moving stream. This was where he and Swan would camp while Kavinsky and Jiang went wild under the full moon. The wolves would eventually tire and follow the scent to their hideout and collapse in a pile, sleeping through the morning. Proko and Swan would stay up all night waiting for them. Swan would brew special full moon potions while Proko drank and smoked. They’d make out and fuck and talk and sing stupid songs at the moon. If Proko couldn’t have what he really wanted – to be a wolf – then he was more than happy to spend the full moon at Swan’s side.

Swan hummed and swung Proko’s hand. He was grinning, lost in thought. Was he thinking about Skov? Or home? Out of all of them Swan was the only one with a good home. He had multiple siblings, multiple parents, and a large extended family. Proko had a suspicion that he was related to over half the people on the island he called home. And, by and large, they all got on, one big witchy family. Proko still didn’t understand how Swan had ended up at Aglionby. Maybe it was a trick of fate, or the alluring call of the ley line.

Proko shut his eyes for a moment and focused on the line, feeling the tug of it. For the longest time he hadn’t understood that nagging feeling, not until he got very drunk and rambled about it to Swan. Of course Swan knew about ley lines. Swan knew everything.

“I have a good feeling about tonight,” Swan said. His voice was low and his accent more distinct than usual.

“Why’s that?” Proko asked. Leaves and sticks crunched under his feet, each sound loud in the quiet.

“I’ve been visited with good omens and dreams,” Swan explained. “Our pack has been fine but I think it will be stronger now, with Skov.” He nodded to himself, his fingers threading with Proko’s. “Omega, beta, _alpha_. We have all the pieces now.”

Proko snorted. “You’re more alpha than him.”

Swan cocked his head to the side, considering. “No. He’s been bred to be a leader but he doesn’t want it. It’s unheard of for an Alpha to follow an Omega.”

“He’s submissive, so what?” Proko rolled his shoulders. The pack was weighing on him, making his body ache.

“I think…” Swan sounded hesitant, like he was testing a theory. “I think he’s _scared_ of power. His father used his power to force him to submit, to comply. Skov doesn’t want to be like that so he subverted pack structure and willingly submitted to K. He knows Kavinsky will never force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Kavinsky literally _can’t_ force anyone,” Proko cut in. “He’s not strong enough, doesn’t have that uber wolf mojo.”

“Exactly!” Swan turned to him, beaming. “Kavinsky is an Omega so he doesn’t have that innate dominance that Alphas have. He can only ask for compliance. I think Skov likes that. Jiang, too.”

“Yeah.”

Proko wondered how Jiang was handling this first run with Skov. He had been avoiding Skov, which meant he hadn’t hung out with the pack much, either. Jiang wasn’t always easy to be around but Proko missed him anyways.

“How is Jiang? You seen him?”

Swan frowned and chewed on his bottom lip. “Some. He’s still pretty upset about Skov. You know how he feels about strangers. It’s even worse since Skov is a wolf.”

“And since Jiang is in love with you.”

Swan didn’t say anything. He never did when Proko tried to tease that kind of information out of him. For all that he got around he wasn’t the type to talk about his partners. And he certainly never discussed Jiang’s obvious infatuation.

“Have you and Skov hooked up yet?” Proko asked.

“Ilya!” Swan shot him an irritated look.

“What? He’s pack now, right? And you’re _roommates_. It’s inevitable.” Proko was positive that the roommate arrangement was due to magic. How else did a werewolf end up sharing a room with a witch who was also a defacto member of the only werewolf pack in school?

“Gods,” Swan groaned. “Look, as soon as it becomes _pack_ business, I’ll let you know.”

“You better.” Proko bumped his hip against Swan’s.

The path started to climb and it was getting harder to breathe and talk so Proko let the matter drop. They hiked along in silence and Proko tried not to let it get to him. He wanted his music. Hell, he would have even settled for listening to one of the podcasts Jiang was obsessed with. Quiet was the breeding ground for bad thoughts.

At last they reached the river. Proko sobbed with relief when he set down his pack. He collapsed onto the grass and moaned.

“Fucking werewolf traditions,” Proko muttered. “We coulda stayed home. Kavinsky, Skov, and Jiang could run the fucking golf course or even Main Street. No one’s ever out at night anyways.”

“Except Ronan Lynch,” Swan reminded him. He was already setting up camp in the cave, rolling out his sleeping bag and arranging their food by the circle of rocks they used for a fire pit.

“Fuck him, too,” Proko said.

“K’s certainly tried.”

Proko stuck his tongue out. He didn’t like when Kavinsky tried to get cozy with anyone outside the pack. Unfortunately, his feelings didn’t seem to matter that much.

“Are you gonna help me?” Swan called from the cave. It didn’t appear that he needed any assistance.

“No.”

“The sooner we get setup, the sooner you get what you want…”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that.

—–

Proko got what he wanted, several times even, so he was feeling tired and happy and well loved when they heard the first howls.

Swan propped himself up on an elbow and squinted out into the darkness, like he’d be able to see anything other than their fire and the bright moon. Proko wrapped his arms around Swan’s waist and kissed his stomach. The sleeping bag was so warm and cozy that both of them had stripped down before climbing in.

The howls sounded again, a chorus echoing in the woods. Kavinsky’s howl was distinct, the sound carved into Proko’s bones. He had grown up hearing it, before he knew what it meant. It was the last thing he had heard before he died.

Jiang’s howl was mournful and low. It sounded like heartbreak and bad news and lamenting something you’d forgotten.

Skov’s howl had a rousing timbre. It felt like a call to arms or a ‘let’s get it started’ anthem. Despite how comfortable he was in the sleeping bag, hearing it made Proko want to get up and follow that howl into the dark.

Swan pulled him close and Proko could feel his heart pounding.

“Listen to them, Pro,” Swan murmured, his tone awed. “They’re perfect together. I told you, we found our missing piece.”

He was right. Somehow the three wolves made an eerie symphony, complete unto themselves. _Home_ they sang, _family_.

“Must’ve been one hell of a run,” Proko agreed. His heart stung with longing. He wanted to run with them, too. He pressed his mouth to Swan’s chest and licked him, needing to bury that sharp feeling with something else. He pressed his hand between Swan’s legs, finding him half hard already. “ _I want you_ ,” he said, stroking slowly, feeling Swan respond to his touch. “They won’t mind.”

The wolves yipped and howled outside the cave, playing. They would tire soon enough and join them.

Swan eased him onto his back and brushed Proko’s unruly hair aside, leaning in to kiss his forehead and lips. “Beautiful,” he sighed.

Proko wrapped his legs around Swan again, shuddering happily as his weight settled against him. Soon the sounds Swan made and his words of praise drowned out the wolves. Proko closed his eyes and held on tight, feeling full and complete and good.

“So good,” he murmured when Swan finished. He felt warm inside and out. He could barely keep his eyes open, blinking sleepily at Swan’s equally tired face. “You make me so happy.”

Swan kissed him gently. “Love you too, Pro.”

Proko closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Swan and wood smoke. The wolves could go fuck themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for all the exposition! I promise things will pick up next update :) 
> 
> On Werewolves: I’m borrowing from various books and TV shows with my wolves. Some basics: they can shift whenever they please but they have to shift on full moons; they turn into wolves not a hybrid man/wolf creature; their size as a wolf is equivalent to the mass they have as humans (bigger than an average wolf but not like Twilight sized wolves); omegas are the lowest pack members but they don’t get pregnant (no mpreg or a/b/o and heats, etc in this au); if a wolf bites someone they can turn them but it’s more likely that the bite will kill the human unless the wolf who gives the bite is an Alpha; as humans they have extra strong senses and increased strength, speed, stamina (*ahem*); mates are a thing but not every wolf chooses to take a mate; wolves can choose humans or other creatures as mates but not every pack will be accepting; it is almost impossible for werewolves to get drunk or high (except on the special substances that K dreams up); they have fast healing but can still form scars if the wound is severe enough; shifting doesn’t start until puberty; any scars acquired pre-shifting (during childhood) remain for life; normal tattoos won’t stick but magical tattoos will (it’s not a pleasant process); werewolves are not immortal but they are difficult to kill; rogue werewolves tend to suffer (emotionally, psychologically, physically) outside of a pack, usually leading to an early death either by accident, murder, or suicide. I’ll add more notes as I think of things or get questions!
> 
> I have headcanons for Skov, Swan, Kavinsky, Proko, and Jiang already typed up if y’all want me to share. Some of it might change or not make it into the story. At this time I’m not planning for The Gangsey to be in the story as anything other than side characters who are occasionally referenced/interacted with (kind of like how most of the Dream Pack is in canon). I do want to bring in the Vancouver Crowd, other TRC side characters, as well as original characters. My plan is to update this fic once a month on the full moon with each chapter being from a different character’s POV (Swan will be next). I would love to hear what y’all think! This is the first time I’ve written werewolves so I’m really excited about this project. I think I might do a post of my favorite werewolf books, shows, and movies if y’all would like that? Cheers!
> 
> btw you can find me on tumblr @dkafterdark


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